It Doesn't Always Roar
by Realmer06
Summary: Pieces Universe. Over the course of his life, Neville Longbottom had three conversations with the Sorting Hat, and they always managed to take him by surprise.
1. Chapter 1

So, this story has been banging around in my head for a while now, and some lovely folks on Tumblr finally pushed me into getting it down on paper.

This one's for anyone who has ever loved Neville. Eventually, it will be three parts long. For now, though, I hope this will suffice.

Enjoy!

* * *

_I._

Standing in the Great Hall, staring up at the dais where his classmates were being Sorted one by one, all Neville could hear was his grandmother's voice in his ear.

_Sometimes, Neville, I swear, I have no idea how you're going to get yourself into Gryffindor!_

He usually heard that after he'd tripped over something or broken something or woken up screaming from a nightmare in the dark. Once he'd proven himself to be magical, his grandmother's worries had shifted to his Sorting.

_No Longbottom would dare end up in Slytherin, and you'll_ _never make Ravenclaw, so if you don't start acting a bit more like a Gryffindor, you're going to find yourself in Hufflepuff, of all places! Is that what you want?_

He knew it was the wrong answer, but secretly, he didn't think Hufflepuff sounded so bad. There would be no expectations to live up to in Hufflepuff. He wouldn't have to prove himself brave or smart or cunning. People would just dismiss him, and that sounded nice, like maybe he could just be Neville that way. But he knew he'd never live down his grandmother's disappointment.

_Why can't you be more like your father? He was fearless, even at your age! You didn't see Frank Longbottom afraid to kill a spider or running away from people who made fun of him! Stand _up _for yourself, Neville! You'll never be Sorted into Gryffindor if you keep running away and hiding from everything! What _would _your father think of you?_

But that was half the problem. Neville didn't _know_ what his father would think of him because he didn't know the Frank Longbottom that his grandmother and great-aunts and -uncles talked about all the time. All he knew was a man in a room in a hospital, who stared at the walls and had a tendency to drool, and if that man remembered who Neville was or that he'd ever even had a son, well, Neville had never seen any sign of it. So how was he supposed to answer _What _would _your father think of you?_

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't hear the scary, stern professor call his name. It took a sharp nudge from Ernie Macmillan for the awkward, too-long silence to register. Neville stumbled forward, tripping over his feet as he had a tendency to do when he was nervous. He heard the muted laughter in the Hall and felt his face flare red. The disapproving stare of the stern teacher, even if it was directed around the Hall rather than at him, made him want to flee altogether and find some dark corner to hide in.

But he remembered what his grandmother had said to him this morning as he'd boarded the train - _Do _try _and live up to the family name, Neville. Make me proud, boy. Make your father proud_ \- and he squared his shoulders and approached the Sorting Hat. As he sank onto the stool in front of all those watching eyes, he was strangely grateful for the long robes that hid his knocking knees. As the Hat slipped down over his eyes, he clasped his hands together in his lap to keep them from shaking.

_Well now, Mr. Longbottom. Let's see what we have here. Oh, my. Interesting . . . _

A jolt of panic shot through him. Interesting? What was interesting? _He_ wasn't interesting. He was just Neville.

_Just Neville, Mr. Longbottom? Is that what you think?_

Well, yeah. He _was_ just Neville. He didn't have any skills or talents or anything that made him extraordinary. Just ask his grandmother.

_Hmm_, the Hat said then, a quality in its "voice" that Neville couldn't place. _Your grandmother . . . yes. But I can see things that she can't, Mr. Longbottom. Your head, your heart, your potential. I see your caring nature, your concern for others, your desire to make them happy. I see your loyalty and your dedication. And I see your courage._

_Courage?_

It was the first thought he'd actually directed at the Hat, and the word was mostly startled out of him. He'd listened to the list of traits with vague bewilderment because it didn't really sound like him, this person the Hat was describing. But _courage_?

_I - I don't have any courage_, he thought, a little frantically. _I'm not - not _brave_. I'm scared of _everything_, the dark and strangers and - and even magic a little bit. Once you poke around a bit more, you'll see. I'm _not _brave_.

_No?_ the Hat asked. _You're here, aren't you? You fear the dark, but you turn out the light each night. You worry about meeting strangers, but you asked for help on the train this afternoon from a girl you'd never met. Magic frightens you, but why wouldn't it, when you've seen firsthand the devastating effect it can have? There is no shame in fear, Mr. Longbottom. What defines us, what defines _you _is how you _react _to that fear. You wanted to run away only moments ago, but you didn't. You came forward and you're here._

_Only because I'm more afraid of my grandmother's reactions than any of those other things!_ Neville thought desperately. _It's not bravery, it's just being scared of something else more! I'm telling you, you've got it wrong!_

_I know what I see, Mr. Longbottom, and what defines you more than any other quality is your courage._

_NO,_ Neville thought, his mental voice more forceful than his actual voice had ever been. _You - you _can't _put me there, I don't belong there, I'm not brave enough, I'm not brave at all._

There was a long pause, and then the Hat asked, _Where would you have me put you, Mr. Longbottom? _The Hat's voice was gentle, and Neville felt a little flare of shame - the Hat wanted to put him in Gryffindor! Shouldn't he be thrilled? Didn't he _want_ to be in Gryffindor?

_Yes_, he thought almost desperately, as quietly as he could to try and hide the thought from the Hat. He wanted to be in Gryffindor with almost everything inside him. But more than that, he wanted to _deserve _Gryffindor. He wanted what the Hat had said to be true, but he _knew_ it wasn't. It _wasn't_, so it wasn't fair to let it put him there. They'd find out, eventually, that he wasn't brave enough, wasn't a hero. That he didn't belong. He'd let them down sooner or later, so wasn't it better to disappoint his grandmother now, when she was already expecting it, than to get her hopes up and disappoint her more when he failed to live up to even the House he'd been Sorted into?

_Hufflepuff_, he answered the Hat, his voice quiet and deliberate. _That's where you should put me._

_Interesting_, the Hat said again. _Why?_

The question took Neville aback. Why? Wasn't it obvious?

_Because_, he said, his mental voice faltering just a little. _I'm not brave enough for Gryffindor or smart enough for Ravenclaw or cunning enough for Slytherin, so isn't Hufflepuff all that's left?_

_Hufflepuff House is not a catch all, Mr. Longbottom_, the Hat said gently, but Neville still flushed at the rebuke. _The students I Sort into Hufflepuff are put there for the qualities they possess just like any other student in any other house._

A jolt of fear stabbed through him then, the terrifying thought that maybe he wasn't good enough for _any_ house, and what would that mean? Would the Hat send him home? He hadn't shown magic for so long, and he was still scared to use it, what if he was still mostly a Squib? What if he didn't belong at Hogwarts at all?

The Hat's voice cut through the panic. _You would do very well in Hufflepuff, Mr. Longbottom, and you have more than enough magical talent to become a superior wizard. Hufflepuff House would welcome you. You possess many of the qualities they value - integrity, dedication, loyalty, humility._

He was suddenly able to breathe again. He would stay at Hogwarts. he would go to Hufflepuff. He probably wouldn't ever become a "superior wizard," whatever the Hat thought about that, but he would do all right.

_I want to be a Hufflepuff_, he said, waiting for the word to be shouted for the whole Hall to hear.

He felt something from the Hat then that seemed a bit like regret, and it lit a new wave of dread in his stomach.

_I truly believe that a part of you does, Mr. Longbottom. And you _would _do well there. But I must consider many things when I Sort. I must consider what is best for the House and what is best for the child, and though I understand your fear and hesitation, my mind is as made up as it was when you first sat on this stool. Perhaps even more so, for you have shown your courage in daring to speak up at all._

_No,_ thought Neville, his mental voice only a croak. _Don't, please. _

_You would do well in Hufflepuff, Mr. Longbottom, but there is only one House that will help you grow into your full potential as a wizard. It is the House that will help you the most and the House that _you _will help the most, and I hope someday, you will understand my choice._

_You're making a horrible mistake! _he pleaded, desperately. _I don't want to let you down, too!_

_You won't, _the Hat said then, its voice kind and encouraging, which bewildered Neville.

And without giving him time to formulate another argument, even if his shocked mind could have come up with one, the Hat yelled, "GRYFFINDOR!"

* * *

To be continued.


	2. Chapter 2

I know, two chapters in three days? What? Yeah, don't get used to it. But enjoy it while you can. :)

* * *

_II._

_I'm going to die._

It was not a new thought. It was not a new possibility, not after this past year. But standing wandless in front of Voldemort, who had promised to use him to "demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost," the possibility was suddenly a lot more real and lot more immediate.

He still couldn't believe he'd done it, run down the castle steps and tried to attack Voldemort _head on_ in front of his whole contingent of Death Eaters. No back up, no plan, just a desperate move fueled by rage and grief and the hope that the element of surprise might be on his side since no one, not even a Gryffindor, would actually do something so _recklessly stupid._

And now, here he was. Harry, _Harry, _stupid, reckless, noble Harry who had somehow believed that sacrificing himself would stop anything, _Harry_, that quintessential Gryffindor who was more innocent in many ways than the youngest first year living at Hogwarts under the Carrows, Harry had given him one task in this battle, just one - kill the snake. And he couldn't even manage to do that. Now he wouldn't get the chance. He hoped Ron or Hermione knew it had to be done, wished he had the chance to get the directive to his army. They could have gotten it done. But he was out of time, and it broke his heart. He should have been able to do more.

But then - Voldemort summoned the Hat. And it wasn't much hope, but Neville had learned this past year how important even the tiniest sliver of hope could be. He held his breath, shielding his thoughts as best he could (they had stumbled through trying to learn Occlumency this past year, at Ginny's suggestion, but given that none of them had ever done that or Legilimency before, it was hard to gauge how much progress anyone had made), and waited to see if Voldemort would underestimate the Hat and give Neville a valuable tool.

When the Hat slipped down over his eyes, Neville could have cheered, if Voldemort hadn't immobilized him, thus preventing him from moving or making any noise at all. But he couldn't stop Neville's thoughts, and his thoughts were all he needed.

_I need your help_, he thought frantically, before the Hat had even fully settled on his head.

_Yes_, the Hat's voice said. _Things do seem rather dire._

_Yes_, Neville agreed. _Is there anything you can do? _

_Well that depends, Mr. Longbottom. _Neville held his breath again and waited. _Are you a Hufflepuff or a Gryffindor?_

_How about you mock me once we've both made it through this alive? _he thought in some exasperation. The Hat chuckled grimly.

_Kill the snake, Mr. Longbottom_. _Show everyone here what tricks can still be pulled from an old Hat, and I will see you on the other side_.

And then they were on fire, and Neville's whole world focused down to the pain.

He'd suffered the Cruciatus Curse countless times this year. He'd been beaten, cursed, and roughed up in the cruelest ways imaginable, but somehow fire was a whole new level of pain, made worse by the fact that he still couldn't move. He felt the flames lick his ears and he screamed, filled with fear and panic because it was the _Hat_ that was on fire, the _Hat_ bearing the brunt of this attack, and what would happen to the school if the Hat was destroyed?

Seconds later than he should have caught on, he realized that if he was screaming, he could move. Somehow, _somehow_, the curse had been removed, and Neville threw off the Hat, and when it landed on the ground in front of him, the gleaming sword hilt sticking out of one end, he didn't think. He just moved.

Hours later, when the battle was over and the dead were laid out and most of the exhausted survivors had found safe places to sleep for a few hours, Neville made his way down the front steps, searching for the Hat, hoping against hope that it, too, had survived, that giving him the sword hadn't been its last dying act.

He found it half buried in the rubble by the side of the stairs. Carefully, gingerly, he unearthed it, turning it over in his hands. He was relieved to see that though it was severely scorched, it wasn't burned through. Taking a deep breath, he set the Hat on his head and let it slip over his eyes.

_Hat?_ he asked, his mental voice tentative. _Are you there? Are you all right? _He was met with silence, and he closed his eyes against the loss. _Hat? _he tried one more time. _Please. Please, are you there?_

Nothing. Neville felt like a weight was pressing down on his chest. He didn't want to believe it. He didn't want to believe that the Hat, this sentient entity that had stood watch over Hogwarts for a thousand years, was really gone. But if there was no voice in his head, what else was he to think? Somehow, this loss was as devastating as all those bodies laid out in the Great Hall.

He reached up to remove the hat from his head. He'd ask Professor McGonagall what should be done with it. What would be fitting. But before he could take it from his head, there bloomed into his mind a weak but clear voice.

_I . . . am here, Mr. Longbottom. _Neville's exhale of relief was sharp and audible. He sagged against the stairs.

_For a moment there, I thought we'd lost you,_ he thought when he had recovered enough to form a thought.

_It takes more than a little fire to keep me down, _the Hat said then. _The same, it appears, is true for you_.

_Thank you for the sword,_ Neville said.

_Godric Gryffindor's sword, _the Hat said, its voice sounding pointed. _In case you had any lingering doubts about your rightful House, Mr. Longbottom. _Neville heaved a mental sigh but made no other remark. He had, after all, promised the Hat that it could mock him if they both made it through the battle.

_How much of this did you know?_ he asked then. It was a question he'd had for a while. _When you Sorted all of us, how much did you know was coming?_

_Mr. Longbottom, I hardly know what happened _today_. Very little of the battle took place in the Headmaster's office. The Potter boy came in and stuck his head in the Pensieve for a while, but that was neither thrilling to watch nor informative. I am getting a piecemeal account from your thoughts and recollections, but if you are asking if I am prophetic, the answer is no. If it does not happen in the Headmaster's Tower or in the head on which I sit, I am not privy to it._

_I'll bet living in the Headmaster's office has its perks, though, right? _Neville thought wryly.

_Headmaster Dumbledore often ran he thoughts and plans and theories by me, if that's what you are asking. I am a sadly under-utilized resource, you know, but Headmaster Dumbledore made the most of me. That doesn't make me prophetic._

_Then how did you know? _It came out in a rush, this question he had thought about more this past year than he wanted to admit. How everything might have gone differently if he'd been in Hufflepuff. _About me? How did you know that putting me in Gryffindor was the right choice? _

_My dear boy, you are still laboring under the assumption that I ever considered putting you anywhere else. The answer to your question, however, _the Hat said, speaking over Neville's wordless astonishment, _is simply that I have been doing this a very long time. And as I told you seven years ago, I know what I see. Gryffindor didn't make you into the person you became this year. He has been a part of you all along. Gryffindor House just had to need him._

Neville didn't know how to process that extraordinary thought, so he decided not to try, but rather tuck the information away in his brain until he could fully process it. He thought he heard the Hat chuckle as he came to that decision.

_Now then, Mr. Longbottom, if you don't mind, I am exhausted. I need to rest and recuperate if I am to be recovered enough by September to Sort a new batch of students. _

_Of course, _Neville said, his exhausted brain latching onto that reality as a dearly needed focus. _Is there anything you need me to do?_

_Some cosmetic repairs would not go amiss. But my enchantment is as strong as ever. _

_All right, then,_ Neville thought. _And thank you._

_Always a pleasure, Mr. Longbottom._

And gently, Neville pulled the Hat from his head and took a few moments to gather the energy necessary to stand. Turning to head back into the castle, he found Professor McGonagall watching him from the top of the stairs.

"Mr. Longbottom," she said as he climbed the stairs, her voice as exhausted as he felt. "I thought I told you two hours ago to seek your bed."

He shook his head. "And I told you, I'll sleep when you sleep."

She nodded at the Hat held gently in his hands. "Is the Hat functional?" Neville almost laughed.

"Functional and annoyingly omniscient as ever," he said. She looked relieved.

"I had wondered, I fear, if we might have to find another way to Sort incoming students. And I therefore wondered briefly if we might not be better off without Sorting them at all."

Neville considered this, and her unspoken question, but then he shook his head with a tired smile. "No," he said. "I don't think we'd be better off. We're the ones who have gotten Sorting wrong, what it means. Not the Hat. We need the Hat. But we also need to be better about listening to it."

As if from a long way off, he heard an echo of a thought in his head.

_Well put, Mr. Longbottom._

* * *

_To be continued_


	3. Chapter 3

For those wondering, this scene takes place forty years after the Battle of Hogwarts. Demelza Robbins, Terry Boot, Eleanor Branstone, and Graham Pritchard are all names from canon, belonging to Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin, respectively. In my universe, they teach (also respectively) Astronomy, Transfiguration, Muggle Studies, and Potions. Also only in my universe, McGonagall served as Head for five years following the battle. When she retired, Professor Sinastra, formerly the Astronomy teacher, took her place (because Flitwick preferred to remain in the classroom rather than become an administrator). She led for fifteen years (and is Headmaster throughout the majority of Pieces) before Margaret Camry took over. Margaret Camry is my own creation. She taught History of Magic because they finally booted Binns out after the war.

And that's what you missed on Cassie's Ridiculously Extended Headcanon Timeline! :)

Enjoy this final chapter!

* * *

When Headmistress Camry announced her retirement, all anyone could talk about in the break room was who would be replacing her.

The last three times a new Head of Hogwarts had needed to be named, the succession had been clear. Professor McGonagall had taken over after the war, and Professor Sinastra had succeeded her when Professor Flitwick had made it clear that he would rather stay in the classroom with his students than become an administrator. When Sinastra and Flitwick had retired the same year, the position had gone to Margaret Camry, the only instructor at the school who had more than fifteen or twenty years educational experience (she'd been hired after the war like Neville and several others, but she was thirty years older and had already logged two decades with the Department of Magical Education).

But that had been almost twenty years ago, and now seniority was not so obvious. Those who had been at the school the longest - Terry Boot, Eleanor Branstone, Demelza Robbins, Graham Pritchard, and of course, Neville himself - had all been hired within five years of each other. Eleanor technically had the seniority by one year, but Terry had been hand-picked by McGonagall, who had taught Transfiguration _and _served as Headmistress for a year while Terry finished school and earned his NEWTs. Then Demelza was one of the most innovative forward thinkers Neville knew, Graham Pritchard was every parent's favorite professor, and Ellie had been Camry's Deputy for the better part of a decade.

Yes, there were strong arguments to be made for any of his four fellow seniority holders (although, "Let me tell you, they're going to _get_ a strong argument if they try to offer me the post," was what Ellie had to say about it. "I have gray hairs enough without adding that stress to my life! Deputy is bad enough - Flitwick had the right idea."), but when they asked Neville who he thought was most likely to get the offer, his reply drew exclamations of incredulity from around the table.

"Harry," he said simply.

"What! Harry doesn't _teach_ here!" Demelza retorted with a laugh.

"He just finished a teaching rotation two years ago, what are you talking about?" Graham broke in. Demelza dismissed his comment with a wave of her hand.

"Defense rotations don't count, the Aurors come in, teach for two or three years, then head right back to the Ministry or out in the field."

"Yes, but Harry _started_ the rotation teaching practice," Neville pointed out. "He worked closely with the school and the Department of Education to put it in place as part of his overhaul of the Auror program, _and_ he's come in to teach a rotation five or six times now, even if half of them were just NEWT level. He's logged ten years as an instructor here, which is as many as Calliope Bainbridge, whose name we were tossing around a bit ago."

"Also, point of interest," Terry said, "you don't have to be an instructor here to be offered the post of Head." That won almost as many outcries as Neville's naming of Harry. "It's true," Terry said, speaking over them. "It's not in any of the bylaws or guidelines. It's just precedent at this point."

"Headmaster is _always_ given to the teacher with seniority!"

"Yes, hence my usage of the term 'precedent.'"

"Well, it doesn't matter," Ellie said, cutting over the argument before Terry could get started on a dissertation of bylaws and traditions. "Harry's not gonna leave retirement with his beautiful wife and adorable grandchildren to come be Headmaster."

"Of course he's not," Neville agreed. "He'll never accept the post, but I think they'll offer it to him."

"And when Harry doesn't take it?" Graham asked him. "Who then?"

In hindsight, he should have recognized the twinkle in his eye, should have heard the teasing underlining the questions from all of them. They'd all known. They'd all been interviewed by the Board of Governors at that point (though Terry had assured him later that no one had _needed_ to be interviewed by the Board of Governors to know which way things were falling. His exact words had been _You do know you're the only person surprised by the decision, right, Neville?_)

And now here he was, standing in the doorway of the circular tower that was as familiar to him as his own name, a box full of plants in his arms, unable to quite work up the nerve to step across the threshold.

Down below, on the Hogwarts grounds, a party was raging. The official party didn't start for another half hour, but everyone who had been invited to help celebrate Neville's new title had arrived early to set up, so the party had essentially already begun. And Neville would go down and join his friends and family and colleagues, but at the moment, it was all still a bit overwhelming. But, he reminded himself, he had faced down dark wizards and possessed snakes and forty years' worth of students. He could handle moving into a new office.

"You know, I was told that this party was to honor my good friend Neville, but the man of the hour is, strangely, nowhere to be found."

Smiling, Neville turned to see Harry standing in the doorway. "Well, I was forbidden by my wife and daughter to help set up for the party, so I thought I'd start setting up my new office. Which begs the question, how did you get up here?" Neville asked, leaning against the desk and crossing his arms. "The gargoyle is password protected."

"Yes, and you, Mr. Dumbledore's Army, are predictable."

Neville laughed. "It was the first thing that came into my head, what can I say?"

Harry crossed the threshold, coming to the cabinet that Neville knew housed the Headmaster's Pensieve, and running his hand gently over the door. "You know, no matter how many I visit, I still think of this as Dumbledore's office," he said. "Can't shake it."

Neville nodded. "I don't, but then, I don't know that I ever saw it when it was Dumbledore's. To me, it's Minerva's. Or Sinastra's, or Camry's. Anyone's but mine."

"You'll get there," Harry said. "And you'll have help, after all." He gestured around at the walls surrounding them and all the sleeping portraits of Headmasters past. Sinastra's was there, and Snape's and Dumbledore's. Camry's would be installed in a few days. Minerva McGonagall's was noticeably absent. She had retired from the school thirty-some-odd years ago, but she had not followed the tradition of hanging a portrait upon her retirement. Portraits, she'd said with a sniff, were well and good for preserving the opinions and memories of those who had moved on, but until that day arrived for her, she would prefer that her thoughts on issues be communicated by her specifically, rather than some facsimile of canvas and paint. She had been adamant that if the succeeding Heads needed her advice, they could send her an owl. Neville found himself glad of that, now. He didn't know if a portrait could adequately capture her brusque no-nonsense tone and her patented over-the-spectacles eyebrow arch.

"I asked McGonagall the other day how long it took her to stop thinking of the office as Dumbledore's," Neville told Harry then.

"And?"

"She said she'd let me know as soon as it happened." They shared a smile at that, and then Neville continued. "I'm encouraged, though, that as I look around, I'm seeing the _Head's_ office, not any one Head's in particular. The Pensieve. The books. The Sorting Hat."

Harry's eyes went right to it and he crossed the room to stand in front of it, grinning. "It tried to put me in Slytherin, you know," he said. Neville's eyebrows shot up.

"Really?"

Harry nodded. "I think it was the piece of Voldemort's soul in my head, though."

Neville considered his friend carefully. "Actually, I can see it." Harry nudged him in the side, and Neville laughed. "Sorting has always fascinated me," Neville said then. "I like to hear where people could have gone. Did you know McGonagall was a Hatstall?"

"No kidding," Harry said, the words almost a question. Neville nodded.

"Ravenclaw and Gryffindor."

"Just like Hermione. Huh. Well, I suppose that makes sense."

Neville made a sound of agreement deep in his throat, watching Harry out of the corner of his eye and wondering how long it would take him to ask.

"Hat took a while to decide with you, didn't it?"

Neville hid a smile. Not long. "It did," he confirmed. "Hufflepuff," he said then, answering the question Harry _hadn't _asked. "That was my debate, but it wasn't the Hat who couldn't decide. It would have placed me in seconds if I hadn't disagreed and started arguing."

Harry laughed, almost disbelieving. "You?" he asked. "Eleven-year-old Neville?"

Neville grinned and nodded. "Eleven-year-old Neville."

"And you talked it into Gryffindor. That's . . . impressive."

"Don't be too impressed. I was the one arguing for Hufflepuff."

Harry started to chuckle. "Of course you were," he said with a shake of his head. "Didn't think you were brave enough for Gryffindor?"

"You know me so well."

There was a brief silence, then Harry said, "You're going to be great, you know." Neville just shook his head, feeling some of the old telltale nerves churning in his stomach.

"Sometimes I do," he admitted softly. "Since I got the news . . . sometimes I have been positive that I can do this and that I'll be good at it, but then sometimes I'm convinced that _anyone else_ would have been a better choice."

"Anyone else . . . like me?"

When Neville turned to face him, there was a wicked grin on Harry's face. Neville narrowed his eyes and pointed an accusing finger at his friend.

"Having a brother-in-law on the Board of Governors is a massively unfair advantage."

Harry's grin widened. "And not one I intend to give up," he responded immediately. "But seriously. You honestly thought anyone in their right mind was going to offer _me_ the post of Headmaster? Why on _earth_ would you think that? I'd be awful at it."

"You'd be better than you think," Neville countered. "And you're a smart choice; I still stand by that opinion. You're a great teacher; everyone who's gone through the Auror program in the last forty years will speak to that. You have authority, you lead without a second thought, you have a wonderful ability to bring people together, you understand how Hogwarts works, along with all its oddities and idiosyncrasies, and you're a well known name that no one would feel uncomfortable with."

"You _do_ realize that you just described yourself, right, Neville? Substitute the greenhouses for the Auror program, and you just described yourself."

Neville sighed and looked away. "I just described everyone who works with me, too. That's what I doubt, Harry, when the doubts creep up. Why me in particular? Why me and not them? Everyone knows Ellie would refuse, but she'd still be a brilliant choice, she's got the diplomacy for it. Terry is more intelligent than I am, Graham is more charismatic than I am, Demelza is more outgoing than I am. So why me?"

Harry crossed his arms and considered Neville carefully. "You really don't know?" he finally asked, his voice soft and devoid of teasing. When Neville didn't answer, he said, "Because every one of those people you just named has one thing in common. They all see you as their leader."

Neville's eyes snapped to him. "But - I've _never_ tried to be-"

"Doesn't matter. You led them during the war, then you led them at the school, and the fact that you've never tried to be just shows how naturally it comes to you. You were the only possible choice, Neville, and everyone sees that but you, which is part of why it's true. The teachers here would follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked it. You have the power to create a unified front, more than Camry, more than Sinastra, maybe even, sacrilegious as it feels to say it, maybe even more than McGonagall. You're going to create the strongest leadership team Hogwarts has seen in the last 500 years. And I can't wait to see it happen."

"No pressure," Neville said faintly. Harry smiled and clapped him on the shoulder.

"None at all," he said easily, "because it's never going to be up to you alone. You've got a team and you know how to lead them. You're going to be brilliant. Don't change a thing about what you're already doing, Neville. And come down to the party some time before it's over, yeah?"

Neville managed a smile. "I'll be down in ten minutes."

"I'm coming back up to get you if you're not."

"I'll change the gargoyle password."

"You think between Ginny, Hannah, and I, we won't be able to figure it out?" Harry asked with a smirk then, and disappeared down the stairwell, leaving Neville alone, still reeling from Harry's assessment.

_He's right, you know._

The thought bloomed into his mind, and though it had been forty years since he'd last heard that voice, he knew it immediately. He turned to face the Hat once more.

"He is, is he?"

_Well met, Mr. Longbottom. And yes. Now, are you ready?_

A breath a laughter escaped him. "No," he said. He'd meant it to be wry, but he felt a wave of approval from the Hat.

_Good_, it said with conviction. _Those who think they are discover very quickly how incorrect their belief is. Those who know they are not ready are more prepared for whatever might be thrown at them. _

"There's something more than a little backwards in that," Neville remarked. The Hat chuckled.

_Indeed there is,_ it agreed.

"You told me once that you were an underutilized tool."

_I did_.

"I don't intend to make that mistake," Neville said then. "I need all the help I can get, and you've been here over a thousand years. So. Any advice?"

There was a pause, and Neville felt at a distinct disadvantage. He felt exposed, laid bare. The Hat could see every thought and memory and doubt and hesitation in his head, but he couldn't even begin to know what the Hat was thinking. It was remarkably unfair. Finally, the Hat spoke.

_Godric Gryffindor was a pompous prick, reckless, hot-headed, and arrogant, who could never admit to being wrong. Rowena Ravenclaw was cold and aloof, disdainful and judgmental of those who lacked her intelligence, thirst for knowledge, or drive to uncover wisdom. Salazar Slytherin was a good man broken and twisted by grief and loss and betrayal, who mistakenly believed that isolation was safety and mercy was a weakness. And Helga Hufflepuff had a stubborn streak a mile wide, but only when she was pushed to the very edge of it; otherwise, she was defined by her desire to avoid conflict, not through mediation, but through ignoring the problem and hoping it disappeared. This pushed her to an early grave and almost led to the destruction of the school. Do you know why I've told you this?_

"Because it's important to remember that heroes and villains are human," Neville said quietly. "Regardless of what history books might have to say about them."

_Quite so. A position you and those who teach alongside you are uniquely suited to understand. But it is also about balance. The Founders, before they fractured apart, balanced each other. Under your leadership the past forty years, the Houses have found that balance again._

"I haven't done that on my own," he countered quietly.

_Nor will you now,_ the Hat replied. _But you asked for my advice, Mr. Longbottom, and it is this: maintain the balance. Use all the tools at your disposal, and trust in your team, and of course, yourself._

Neville looked down, familiar, after all these years, with the burst of doubt that followed those words. No matter how old he got or how much he accomplished, he couldn't quite seem to shake the fear of not living up to someone's expectations.

"I'm scared," he finally admitted softly, because it wasn't as if the Hat didn't already know that. "Or - not _scared_, not really." He searched for the right words. "I know what fear and terror feel like, and this isn't that, but I worry that I won't be able to be what everyone needs. That I'll fall short of what's asked of me, and those relying on me will suffer because of my inability to succeed. I doubt myself."

_Yes, as you always have. Some things require a lifetime to overcome. But while all you see are your shortcomings, Mr. Longbottom, do you know what I see?_ Neville shook his head. _I see a man who does what is asked anyway. _While the weight of that statement settled on Neville's shoulders, the Hat asked another question. _Do you remember_ _what you told me when you were eleven and I remarked upon your bravery in coming forward to be Sorted?_

Neville thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't," he admitted.

_You told me you were more afraid of your grandmother's reaction if you didn't come to be Sorted than you were of the Sorting itself._

A breath of laughter escaped him then, as the memory of the moment came rushing back, either from the recesses of his own brain or helped along by the Hat. He didn't know which. He'd been so scared, so panicked at the notion not of failing, but of letting down his family and House when he couldn't be what they needed. He'd been so scared, and Neville now just wanted to reach out to that boy, to hold him close as he had so many other terrified first years, and impart to him the greatest truth he had learned in his time at Hogwarts. _There's nothing to live up to,_ he would tell those young, frightened children. _The Hat isn't forcing you to match an impossible ideal. The Hat is only identifying what is already inside you, if you're willing to look for it. Courage_, he would say if the young frightened child was a Gryffindor, _doesn't always roar._

_Sometimes it is the small voice at the end of the day saying "I will try again tomorrow," _the Hat said, finishing the quote that had echoed through Neville's memories. _It's a good line_.

"It isn't mine," Neville said absently, surprised to find tears pricking his eyes.

_You've made it yours,_ the Hat argued. _And you embody it. So if your doubts prove true, if on some days you fall short, which you undoubtedly will - no one succeeds one hundred percent of the time, after all - what will you do, Headmaster?_

The title woke something in Neville, and he stood a little straighter. "Try again tomorrow," he said, and he could have sworn the Hat smiled.

_Try again tomorrow, _it echoed. _You do not embark on this endeavor alone, and you can only truly fail if you lose sight of that. Best of luck, Headmaster Longbottom. I eagerly await all that you have yet to become._

Neville searched for some response, some last word to have in this conversation, but before he could find it, there was a knock on the office door. He turned to see Terry, Ellie, Demelza, and Graham in the doorway.

"Harry sent us to make sure you were keeping your promise," Demelza said with a grin. "The party _is_ about to _officially_ start, you know."

Neville looked at them, and suddenly it hit him. Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Slytherin. He didn't know how he'd missed it before. They were all here. _Find the balance_, the Hat had said. _Do not embark on this endeavor alone_.

He looked at the clock on the wall. "We have five minutes still. Come in, would you? I have some questions to ask you four." They exchanged hesitant glances. "Come on," Neville said more emphatically. "You four are my Heads of Houses - congratulations, by the way, Demelza, on your promotion."

She groaned and threw her head to the ceiling. "How did I know you were going to do that to me? Yeah, okay, fine." She grinned at him. "So what do you need, Neville?"

"You four are my team," he said. "You have been for years, and I'm not about to give that up. So I want to know from all of you - what do you want to see happen this year? What needs to be done?"

The four exchanged another glance before Terry crossed the threshold and said, "Well, we're going to need a new Herbology professor."

"Edwin Rutherford."

"Perfect! Yes, he'd be brilliant!"

"He's on a horticultural expedition to South America for the next two years," Neville broke in. "And I'm not pulling a McGonagall." Terry grinned.

"Okay," Terry said, turning to Neville. "If you could hand pick anyone?"

"Edwin," Neville admitted. "But we can't have him for two years."

"Hire an interim?" Ellie suggested. The room exploded with sounds of agreement.

"Would Sprout do it?" Demelza asked. Neville laughed.

"Not even if her life depended on it," he said. "She's told me as much. Who else?"

Suggestions flew around the room almost faster than Neville could keep up with them.

"Get Luna to do it. She's going to be here anyway, with Rolf taking over the NEWT Magical Creatures class-"

"She's a zoologist, though, it's not the same-"

"It's close enough. She's studied both-"

"Enough for OWL-levels, maybe, but teaching for NEWTs? I don't know if she's got the knowledge-"

"So split the curriculum. We're doing it already with Rolf and Hagrid for COCM, it's how the Aurors run DADA every other rotation-"

"Yes! If Luna takes first through fifth-"

"We can absolutely bring someone else in for sixth and seventh!"

"Could you pull a McGonagall for that?" Terry asked Neville with a grin.

"If I have to," he said. And then the four were off again.

"Susan could do NEWTs for Herbology. She's a phenomenal teacher-"

"Yeah, look at Al and all her other Healer-hopefuls she's mentored-"

"That's Healing, though-"

"They're comparable. If we run a NEWT Herbology program on medicinal plants, it's only two years, if Edwin says yes-"

"She'd only be away from the infirmary what, five, maybe six hours a week-"

"Hell, her current Healer hopefuls can cover that! Or Graham could step in-"

"In the infirmary or the greenhouses. If you're talking medicinal plant usage, Potions is a comparable background, too-"

"And honestly, it might not be a bad idea to consider incorporating two teachers per subject-"

"Across the board?"

"Look, we have the evidence that it's beneficial, and with the way the population is swelling-"

"We have, what? Ninety incoming first years?"

"Closer to a hundred, and that's - help me-"

"300% increase from when we were in school? Nearly?"

"Twenty-five students per classroom, I wouldn't mind having someone to split the load with. Not necessarily OWL/NEWT splits in every subject-"

"How did Dumbledore split Divination with Trelawny and Firenze?"

The ideas and comments flew like rapid-fire spellwork around the room. They brainstormed together like a well-oiled machine - because of course, they were. Neville leaned back against the Headmaster's desk and listened, his confidence growing with each passing moment.

The conversation came to a halt only because a stag patronus came through the window and said, "I sent you four up to drag him down, not join him! If all five of you aren't on this lawn in two minutes, we're relocating the party."

Neville grinned and the others laughed. "We'll continue this later," he assured them. "I want to hear all of what you have to say."

They filed out, but Neville lingered in the doorway while the others descended the stairs, taking one last, long look at the Hat. "I have one last question," he said. He felt the Hat's expectant waiting. "Where would you Sort me now? If you had to?"

_What do you think, Mr. Longbottom?_ the Hat asked. Neville thought about it carefully, remembering that young, frightened boy, remembering everything he had grown to accomplish in the house of the brave, remembering what the Hat had said to him the last time they had spoken.

"I think," he said slowly, "I think . . . it doesn't matter." He felt the Hat's silent approval wash over him, tinged with something very like pride.

_Serve wisely and well_, was all the Hat said.

"I'll try," Neville promised with a smile. Then he turned to follow his friends, repeating the words once more to the empty stairwell. "I'll try."

* * *

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